Powerless, To Dream Of Strength
by KieranBeast155
Summary: This is a short story about a young girl who fights for rights between men and women. She will go through a serious events to acomplish. To be continued!...


Chapter 1

Prologue:

My mind was never mine. It never truly belonged to me, not even to a being within my body. A long time ago, the government decided women were nothing. They decided we were too dangerous, and should be given to men as possessions. Our minds, our bodies all of us belonged to the man who claimed us at birth. Generally, there wasn't too large of an age difference, seeing as the man usually claimed the woman as a wife. Women were only taught basic reading and writing. No science, no math. Since the law that was passed that limited the positions of women, no girl has ever been taught to fight or think for herself. As for me however, I didn't have to be taught that. I learned it.

Every child grows up with their parents, until either they claim independence (in the case of men) or are claimed for their master's' family (in the case of women). In retrospect, my mother was very lucky to have been claimed by my father. My father was a kind and caring man and my mother adored him. They both loved me as much as any human was capable of doing so, and in this love my defiant spirit flourished. I often ran off into the forest bordering my father's house. Punishments did nothing but add fuel to the fire growing within my soul. My hair was a vibrant burning caramel and my eyes, fitting for a woman of my personality, a brilliant gold that faded into the most striking blue. Everything about me spoke fire, my hair, my tanned skin, my eyes and the fact that I never followed the rules. Sure by law I was to be whipped every time I disobeyed my superiors but, as I said, those whippings did nothing but to add fire to my spirit and fuel to my veins.

I often found myself spying on the boys' fighting school. Every man since toddler age was taught weaponry, science, math, writing, and vigorous hand-to-hand combat, and I loved it. I loved everything about it, the way the teachers and tutors spoke, the way they handled themselves, the clang of metal clashing on metal, the bang of pistols during gun training. Often I would watch from a distance, and then run through the forms myself, determined to be as able to protect myself as any man on this Earth.

At the beginning of my fascination with the fighting, my father looked on as I came home sweaty, muddy and tired. He'd smile knowingly as he saw my muscles grow and firm and once, casually, he told mother, "I think our daughter is more of a son."

That secret was the first we shared. It was delicious, having someone to share secrets with, having someone I could trust to not judge me. That was when I truly began to respect my father, not because he was a man but because he was good. He saw goodness and beauty in all things, and never looked down on me because of my gender. I think he was the first and last man I loved and respected.

Later on my spying sessions got me into trouble. I had been practicing a sword form with a long, straight tree branch when I heard laughing behind me.

"Look, isn't it cute? It thinks it's one of us." I heard the croaking laugh and I felt the familiar fire begin to burn. I whipped around and saw a pack of five boys, jeering like wolves on the hunt.

I stepped back and said boldly, "I don't want trouble."

"Aw, cute it doesn't want to fight. It know's it will lose." He sniggered and I knelt and clenches my fist on a small rock beneath my feet.

I drew it up.

"A rock?" THe lead boy jeered, stepping towards me. He was probably a few years older than me and bigger, he had a strong build. I gripped my rock tightly and drew it back. He laughed and his wolf-like eyes sparkled, "Go on sweet cakes, throw it. Let's see what you've got."

"You asked for it." I breathed and threw the rock. It soared through the air like a bullet and struck him squarely in the head. He staggered back and blood dripped through the hand he held clenched to his face. I grabbed my tree branch and launches forward, rapidly practicing the forms and strikes I had taught myself, and running through them perfectly. The head boy fell back, completely unconscious and I turned my gaze to the other boys. My hair, long and loose, gently shifted behind my head and my fiery eyes blazed, the gold alighting with flame and the blue vibrantly shining.

The pack stepped back, looks of pure shock on their faces. I was twelve at the time and I felt nothing but pride at putting a man on the ground as I had. It didn't occur to me then that my actions would put me in deep trouble. The shock in the older boys' eyes quickly turned to fury and they all converged on me.

"Stop!" I heard a loud voice announce and all of our heads snapped to one boy, maybe three or four years older than me. He stepped in between me and the group, his black hair gathered into a small ponytail at the back of his head.

"You have no right to tell us what we can and can not punish." Snarled one of the boys at the front.

"I do when it's my property," The boy in front of me said in a low warning tone, "ruining her when I have forbidden it is punishable by death."

The new leader spat on the ground in front of my unlikely savior, turned and helped his cronies pick up their original alpha and drag his limp form away. I stood stoic, staring at the man in front of me. He turned and I saw his face, I saw sternness there.

"What were you doing? Don't you realize they would have killed you?" He said in a low growl. I shifted uncomfortably and didn't reply, just stared awkwardly at my bare feet.

He walked in front of me and bent so out eyes were level and very gently lifted my chin to look at him, "training to fight is one thing. fighting is something different, thought you did kick that guys ass."

I cursed myself for blushing. He smiled and his face brightened like summer sun. I liked that smile, it promised candy and cake and ice cream and warm hugs on winter nights. Suddenly a small part of me felt more secure, safer, stronger and the fire in my veins cooled. my eyes darted up and I let out the tiniest of smiles.

"Let's get you home." The boy said and gently picked me up on his back, holding my legs, "You can sleep if you want."

I glanced up at the setting sun and felt overwhelming tiredness rush over me and I leaned my head into his back and closed my eyes; moments later I was asleep.

Chapter 2

Six years had passed since I met the boy in the woods. I had never seen him again. Often i wondered if his claim on me was real, or a bluff to save my life. Either way though, I could not ignore the fact he did save me. It seriously screwed with my ego but he saved my life, and more.

I had, in my mother's terms, "blossomed" into a beautiful young woman. My body had changed dramatically from my 10 year old day's, breasts forming legs becoming longer and fuller with muscle, features maturing into that of a woman. My hair was now a dark brown streaked with copper. I grew a foot or two also, now I could look my father in the eyes easily. Much to my dismay my new body gave me more of a delicate look, slender hips and slight shoulders and such, irritating me to no bounds.

The one thing about me that didn't change were my eyes. My eyes still showed the fury and fire raging inside of me.

After the fight in the woods my father had personally take an interest in my training. He would watch me and give me discreet pointers. I learned that I held my sword (actually a tree branch) wrong. I learned my fists were not correct when I punched, and if I punched something solid my hand would shatter. I learned how to kick something with moving from the backlash. I learned how to control my stance to give myself the best base. Most of all I learned how to listen, how to note quiet subtle things, slight changes in my Father's mood that would hint that he was watching me, changes in his stance that showed displeasure, and masked words that showed praise.

Testing my new ability became my favorite passed time. Often father and I'd sit and talk and I'd point out all the things he never said but he meant. I began to test it in other ways, deciding to learn my mother the way I had mapped out my father.

The first thing I noticed was a heavy depression.

"Odd," I had thought, "that she would hide her sadness from father."

Father would talk to her about anything, bills, a job, worries, regrets, anything! Why would my mother pretend to be happy?

Her facade was strong, it took me months before I began to notice little things. She never smiled on her own, she never took part in any activity with me. She never drew, like most women. She never read the books father had available, she never wrote anything. SHe acted defeated, as if she herself was not a being anymore but it was someone else was running her body.

With each observation, each discovery, my curiosity only grew. I couldn't find answers to my questions, I could only find more questions.

One night I was outside punching a tree to get my endurance up. My fists were scratched and slightly bloody and my body glistened in sweat, eyes more vibrant in the moonlight then the sky.

There was a quiet rattle behind me. It wasn't a baby rattle, it was an odd rattle I'd never heard. This rattle sent shivers up my spines and caused goosebumps to appear on my tired limbs.

The rattle was suddenly accompanied by a quiet hissing. I turned slowly, backing up to press against the tree and stare at the coiled form of a snake. It's shadowed head was up and held back in a striking position and it's tail was up and vibrating with a low rattle.

Sweat dribbled back behind my ear, creating a line of fearful cold down my neck and onto my back and shoulder blade. No one would know I was in danger, I couldn't scream or risk setting the snake off. I couldn't move or risk the same thing. I was trapped like prey.

The screen door to our house shifted opening slowly and a dark figure stepped out holding something long in their hand, like a sword. The figure moved staking towards the snake and me.

The snake's head shifted back further jaw opening in a loud hiss that showed its venomous fangs. I pressed my body against the tree, attempting to mold into the bark and vanish.

The snake's head snapped forward and was abruptly crushed by the fire poker.

The cool iron gleamed as my mother screamed "Don't touch my daughter! Don't touch her! I'll kill you!"

My mother brought the iron poker down on the snake's skull again and again, crushing it with violent club like swings. Her eyes were wide with a violence I had never seen, a protectiveness that was alien to me.

The snake twitched and stopped moving as the fire poker smashed down on its skull for the millionth time. Mother spat down at the body of the snake and waked to me, dragging me back to the screen door. I was too shocked to do anything but let her.

Once in the light mother looked me over carefully, lifting my knuckles to examine the scraped flesh, checking my legs, my arms, my body.

Finally satisfied with her inspecting she pulled me into a tight hug, tears streaming down her delicate cheeks to mingle with my hair.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered, "when I heard the snake."

"You were watching." I breathed, voice stunned and monotone.

She held tighter, "Things that mess with children must be ready to face the mother's wrath."

My mind reeled, had she been watching me the whole time? Did she always watch? Why was she watching? How had she gotten the courage to kill the snake?

Mother pulled away and looked at me, eyes showing a type of fire I had never seen. not in myself, and never in her, "I will not let anyone hurt you. If anyone touches you I will kill them myself."

Anyone…?

Mother pulled me in and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes, feeling something pass between us. It wasn't what was with father, the guiding relationship. It was silence. A silence that spoke many words, made many promises.

Mother came back and looked down at me, eyes flaring with that same odd bright fire, "I will be dead before they lay their hands on you."

Chapter 3

Mother got the chance to fulfill her promise all too soon.

It was a sunny day, blue skies, bright sunlight, chattering springtime birds. But I watched, I listened, there was a storm brewing making for our house at an inordinate speed.

I was 18 now, fully grown. The rest of my body had filled out nicely like my legs. My hair was thick and a full chocolate brown. My eyes remained unchanged. Doctors said that was the one thing about a person that never changed. Eyes.

Father had called me into his study to talk. About what I did not know. When I entered it my mental map of my father told me immediately something was very very wrong.

His back was straight his features set in a hard emotionless line. His skin was taut with tense muscles. His hands were folded on his desk.

To anyone else he would have looked like a business man going in for a meeting, but for me I could recognize he was tense for some reason.

"Sit down Victoria."

Victoria Elizabeth was my full name. Women didn't have last names until they were married. Generally a woman, after claimed, was branded like cattle to show who they belonged to. I'd heard that some of the richer houses simply tattooed them, but the crueler families always used the hot iron.

I sat in the plush visitor's seat in front of my father's desk.

"By now you've probably realized something's wrong," I nodded, "your… master," the word made his mouth twist in revulsion, "is coming to claim you."

My hot blood ran cold and goosebumps ripples up my pint and arms, "No." I whispered, fear working it's way into my system for the first time since I met the rattlesnake.

Father's expression softened and he walked over to me and stood in front of the chair, placing a hand on my knee and taking my chin and lowering it to look into his eyes. His eyes mirrored my own fear and anxiety."It will be different with them. You can no longer train, no longer speak freely. I don't want to think about what they will do. You must promise me," his grip on my chin became painful and he stared into my eyes looking pleading, "you will not lose yourself. You will not lose who you are. And you will not let them take it from you. Promise me Victoria."

I stared at him, tears pricking the corners of my eyes and I flung myself forward, throwing my arms around him and whispering, "I promise."

Roughly a week later I stood in the attire "suggested" by my new master. I wore a simple yellow sun dress with flowers around the skirt.

Mother stood next to father looking duller and blanker than ever. But in her eyes I saw the same look as when she killed the snake. I saw determination, rigid and unmoving. And I saw something else, she looked resigned.

Something passed between us and mother's hand rested gingerly on an off lump in her pocket, long and thin like a dagger. Cold rushed through me. Her promise, she would keep it. She would die before they took me..

Father walked forward at a loud knock on the door and mother moved silently next to me. One of mother's hands was in her pocket the other tightened around my wrist.

Several men walked in wearing black suits. Each looked like they could benchpress a car.

Mother's grip tightened as one man with messy brown hair, maybe 20, walked in. A ring on his left pointer finger showed the outline of a rose.

The man looked me over then his cold gaze turned to mother. His eyes narrowed at her hands.

"Let go of my property." The man said coldly.

Mother's voice was eerily calm and she produced a long iron dagger from her pocket, "over my dead body."

Mother calmly pushed me back behind her.

The man's eyebrow ticked and he looked at my father. Father looked too stunned to speak.

"Very well woman. Kill her and the man."

My jaw dropped fear quickly hurtling through me, fear for my father fear for my mother, shock that he would kill both of them, and fear for myself.

Mother tightened her grip on the dagger but it was quickly taken from her and her and father were forced to their knees guns pointed at their heads. One man gripped my wrist and begun to drag me out.

"No!" I screamed, thrashing violently, "No! Let me go! Father! Mother!"

Gunshots echoed.

The man wrapped an arm around my waist and dragged my violently flailing form back. I was screaming incoherent curses, threats, and simple sobs of shock and rage.

Eventually my limbs sunk and I became a sobbing mess of a woman, seeing the men come out of my old home with my parent's blood staining their black suits.


End file.
